


A night in the woods

by Fox_In_A_Box



Series: Woods-verse AU [1]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Bonding Over Murder, First Meetings, M/M, One Shot, Pre-Slash, Unresolved Sexual Tension, terrible people doing terrible things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-29 18:29:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18299708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fox_In_A_Box/pseuds/Fox_In_A_Box
Summary: Alternative first meetings: Ed is out in the woods to dispose of the body of his first victim and turns out a certain crime lord has had the very same idea. Things will never be the same again.





	A night in the woods

**Author's Note:**

> I have a soft spot for Oswald's "mayor killer" outfit from season 2, for some reason.

Turns out killing a man is easier than he would have thought.

 

After Ed had pushed the blade of his knife into his stomach, officer Dougherty had been so shocked that he hadn't been able to do anything other than stare at him in panicked confusion. When he had started to understand what was going on, he was already too weak to fight back or even try and get away. He hadn't even screamed as he collapsed on the ground. Which was a relief, really. He was much broader and stronger than him; Ed wouldn't have stood a chance had he decided to retaliate.

 

Murder, Ed had realised as he stood in dazed fascination over the body lying limp at his feet, wasn't about physical strength. It was about skill, and preparation, and most of all it was about brilliance. Luckily, he had plenty of that.

 

It had taken him a while to come back to himself. His first instinct had been to try - and fail- to rub away the fresh bloodstains on the sleeves of his coat. He had cursed between gritted teeth. No, it wouldn't do to let himself be taken over by panic and waste any chance of getting away with it. Now more than ever, he needed to be rational. His eyes had fallen on the dead man. He needed to get rid of him, along with any evidence of his misdeed. Right there and then, the initial euphoria had been replaced by cold-blooded determination. He had smoothed the wrinkles of his clothes, adjusted his glasses, and proceeded to stuff the body in the trunk of his car.

 

"Think, Ed, think," he mumbled to himself, fingers tight around the steering wheel. Bit by bit, the city was left behind, and the car started making its way in the thick woods just outside of Gotham. The low roaring of the engine was the only sound that could be heard for miles. Ed smirked at his reflection in the windshield. The perfect place to make someone disappear.

 

When he judged to have gotten far enough from the city, he killed the engine but left the keys in the ignition, so that the headlights could illuminate his surroundings at least as much as he needed to carry out his plan.

 

"Now, let's find you a nice, cosy place to rest, shall we?" He said, as he dragged the body of his former co-worker out of the trunk. Dougherty was heavy and, while by no means unexperienced when it came to carrying dead people around - with his line of work and all, it took him some time to get him to the perfect spot to start digging. In spite of the strain, he felt _good._ Adrenaline was still running through his veins, and more than once he caught himself smiling and humming little tunes to himself as he dragged the body through the trees.

 

He turned back on his steps to get the shovel, but stopped before he could get any closer to the car. A metallic sound broke the silence. A sound you're bound to hear, sooner or later, when you're working for the police, especially in a city like Gotham. The sound of a gun being cocked.

 

"Don't move."

 

Almost as coaxed by the voice, Ed froze in place. Immediately, his brain scrambled to find a way out. He still had his knife, blood-stained and tucked safely in the inner pocket of his winter coat. Could he reach for it before the man behind him pulled the trigger? Very unlikely. Could he try to talk him down, distract him long enough to allow himself the time to get it out?  Maybe.

 

He took in a deep, shaky breath. 'Maybe' was the best thing he had, at the moment. He turned around slowly, hands in the air, hating himself a bit for not being able to stop himself from shaking. He didn't have a clear view of his assailant; since the man stood out of the small corner of light cast by the headlights of his car, he was little more than a shadow.

 

"I'm sorry, but what part of 'don't move' don't you understand?" The man's pitch had grown higher, as if he was struggling to contain his anger.

 

"If you have me, you want to share me. Once you share me, you won’t have me. What am I?"

 

The shadow didn't move and Ed was positive that the gun was still pointed right at him. However, when he heard the voice again, he noticed a hint of uncertainty in the previously stern, menacing tone. "Are you-- are you asking me a riddle?"

 

"Yes," he breathed. "Do you like riddles?"

 

"No," the man said.  "Especially when they're keeping me from getting a job done."

 

Then, he stepped into the light. He was dressed up in a strange attire, with his dark blue long coat and bowler hat pushed down so low on his head that the brim cast a shadow over his eyes. The scarf covering the lower half of his face looked rather expensive, much like the leather glove he wore on the hand holding the gun. All in all, he didn't look like a cop. And he definitely didn't look like what you'd expect from a lowly thug caught in the act of carrying out some vicious crime on his boss’ behalf.

 

It all clicked into place when he took a few steps closer, never lowering his weapon, and he did so with a noticeable limp. Ed's eyes widened, not in fear but in awe.

 

"I know who you are! You're-- you're the Penguin."

 

_"I hate to break it to you, Ed, but your hero is going to kill us,"_ the Other Ed said.

He had remained unusually silent during the whole ordeal with Dougherty, to the point that Ed had almost hoped his actions had exorcised the annoying presence away. But of course, it hadn't. He didn't want to give him the satisfaction of an answer, so he did his best to focus on the man before him, while still painfully aware of him lingering just on the edge of his vision.

 

At the sound of his nickname, the Penguin tensed. Ed hardly had the time to realise the mistake he had just made, that he had already limped closer still, until the business end of his weapon was pressed against Ed's chest. He held his breath. Point blank shot. He could count himself lucky if he managed to hit him square in the heart and grant him a quick, painless death. But he knew better than being too optimistic.

 

His eyes shifted down instinctively, towards the Penguin first, who looked very much like he would have enjoyed killing him on the spot, if not to avoid hearing him ask him another riddle. Then, they drifted beyond him, as his attention was drawn by something else. For the first time, he got a clear view of a second shape that until then had remained concealed by both darkness and the the Penguin's own body. It was a man. A man who had been dead for a few hours, if the position in which his limbs were twisted was any indication. The small hole in the centre of his forehead left little to the imagination when it came to wondering about how he had met his untimely demise.

 

"Oh dear," he whispered. "This is awkward."

 

"I'd say unfortunate," the Penguin rebutted. "For the both of us. I hate wasting bullets and you, well..."

 

Ed's heartbeat picked up pace, to the point that he could hardly hear his own voice over the deafening thumping in his ears.

 

"Wait, wait! I can help you," he hurried to say. "And you can help me."

 

The Penguin tilted his head questioningly. Because of the scarf Ed couldn't tell, but he was pretty sure his mouth had just twisted into a sarcastic grimace. "And how, pray tell?"

 

"Two unrelated people murdered with two different weapons found buried in the same ditch in the middle of the woods. Even if someone ends up finding them, it will be an enigma not even the GCPD will be able to solve," he paused, catching his breath, before adding: "Besides, I have a shovel in the trunk."

 

The Penguin was conflicted. Ed could see it in his eyes, even half-hidden as they were by the hat. For a single moment, the tight grip around the handle of his gun seemed to falter. Ed found himself fighting back a smile, lest he angered his reluctant accomplice. It seemed like he wasn't the only one who struggled to keep his nerves at bay.

 

"Who tells me you won't go running back to the precinct and tell them everything you saw?" He asked.

 

"Then I would have to explain what I was doing in the woods at this hour of the night."

 

For a long, terrible moment, the Penguin could have been about to squeeze his finger on the trigger or lower the gun altogether. A relieved sigh escaped him as he decided for the latter, the weapon quickly disappearing somewhere inside his coat. Ed's uneven breaths turning into smoke in the freezing midnight air.

 

"You make a compelling argument Mr..."

 

"Nygma. Ed Nygma."

 

"Just don't make me regret it," was the final warning. But with the weapon gone, any word he could have said had by now lost its bite. "If you really want to help me, go get that shovel."

 

Ed felt confident enough to perform a mock-salute before exclaiming: "Righty-O, Mr. Penguin!"

 

He knew the fact that the criminal had decided to let him live, for the time being, didn't mean he would survive the night just yet. After all, the Penguin had plenty of reasons to let him do the hard work and then dispose of him to avoid leaving any witnesses behind. Still, he felt _giddy_. More than that, the previous excitement had started resurfacing, at the thought of helping a notorious crime lord with his dirty business. A true initiation the very same night of his first murder.

 

He retrieved the shovel, careful not to trip over Dougherty's body as he hurried back to join the other man who, in the meantime, had discarded both his hat and his scarf, and rolled the sleeves of his coat and shirt almost up to his elbows. He looked up at Ed.

 

"Let's get to work."

 

 

 

                                                                                                                      *

 

 

 

Two hours later, they were both sitting on the ground, shoulder against shoulder, with their backs resting against the side of Ed's car. Both sweaty and out of breath, but wearing the tired smile one has at the end of a long but satisfying day of hard work. Or night, in their specific case.

 

It had taken no shortage of bickering and coordination to get the job done. First, Ed had had to dig a hole big enough to house not one, but two grown men. Then, he and the Penguin had dragged the bodies in, before the Penguin had filled the ditch with dirt and leaves. He had argued at first, claiming that the effort would put too much pressure on his bad leg and that he would definitely regret it in the morning. But when Ed had reasoned that it was a team effort, after all, he had relented. It was only fair.

 

_Ashes to ashes_ Ed had mused, as he watched his accomplice throw the last shovelfuls of dirt over the two men's makeshift grave. He supposed that wild animals would smell the rotting corpses anyway, sooner or later, but he was confident that by the time a fox or a stray dog dug them up, they would be unrecognisable enough for the police not to start a proper investigation. And even if it happened, his newfound confidence suggested him that with his position as a forensics expert it would have been child's play to launch his poor colleagues in a wild-goose chase by omitting just a couple of fundamental details about the crime scene.

 

He smirked to himself, then he peered at his unlikely companion from behind the lenses of his glasses.

 

The Penguin was resting with his eyes closed, his head reclined backwards a bit. Ed felt like there was something forbidden in watching him catch his breath, in seeing him like that with his lips slightly parted and just a strip of pale white skin exposed by the upturned collar of his coat. He looked somewhat different from the man he had seen on tv, smiling and waving to unseen audience to advertise the opening of his nightclub. Ed liked to think that the one he was witnessing now, the one who had pressed the muzzle of a gun against his chest and would have not hesitated before pulling the trigger, was the _real_ Oswald Cobblepot. The one hiding under the façade of a harmless nightclub owner, the one he knew from files and reports had more than once carried out the assassination of whoever had tried to stand in his way. The aura of danger he emanated attracted him instead of scaring him away.

 

And now, when he looked at him, he felt the same thrill that had rushed through his veins when he had plunged the knife in the body of officer Dougherty. Did his heart pound in his chest too, when he pointed the gun at one of his enemies? Did he feel the same rush when he saw blood pouring out of a poor man's wounds when he stabbed him five, ten, twenty times?

 

_"Aw, little Ed has a crush on the crime lord. Cute,"_ the Other Ed commented from his spot against a nearby tree. He offered him a sarcastic smirk, before shifting his own eyes on the Penguin. _"He's very pretty though. Almost as pretty as Miss Kringle."_

 

Ed squeezed his fists, desperately trying to shut out the low cooing of his other self. But it wasn't enough. He could steel feel him watching over the two of them, that smug smile painted on his face, just waiting for him to do or say something stupid to have a good laugh at his expenses. He needed distractions.

 

"Who was he?" He blurted out, turning abruptly towards the other man.

 

The Penguin cracked open one eye. "Uhm?"

 

"The man you killed," Ed clarified. "What did he do?"

 

"A former employee of mine. He failed to show me the due respect. I can't have people who don't understand the importance of hierarchy working under me. On the other hand, executing one of your men on the first offence is not exactly good publicity - I made a mistake this time, got a bit carried away. It was only right I sorted it out myself, as a reminder to be more lenient in the future."

 

Ed could easily picture him forcing the man on his knees, pressing his gun against his forehead and pulling the trigger. A blood-curling scene he couldn’t help but find utterly intriguing. Suddenly, he regretted not having been able to witness it with his own eyes. It would have been a fascinating experience. Almost as fascinating as the man sitting beside him in the dark of the woods.

 

"What about your Dougherty?" he asked then. "Did he disrespect you one too many times?"

 

"No...Well, yes, but there’s more than that. I did it for love."

 

"Love..." the other man repeated, and even if his tone sounded devoid of bitterness and sarcasm, Ed couldn't help but ask himself if he wasn't just mocking him for how cliché and banal his motive was.

 

The Other's deep voice echoed through his ears. “ _Congratulations, Ed. Now he thinks you're a dumb, hopeless romantic who kills for love in a city ruled by money and power.”_

 

"I'm not dumb..." he hissed under his breath.

 

_"No, you're not,"_ the Other Ed agreed. _"Well, maybe just a little bit dumb. Whatever. But sure as hell you're not going to impress him if you keep blabbering about love and your feelings. Because that's what you want, right? Then tell him how you felt when you stabbed that man. Tell him how thrilled you were, how you laughed as you watched him choke on his own blood, how you--"_

 

"Shut up!"

 

The Penguin straightened his back and shot him a glance. "Excuse me?"

 

"N-no, not you," Ed rushed to explain. "I was just...talking to a voice. An annoying voice in my head."

 

The Penguin stared at him without saying anything. He was half-expecting him to laugh, or at least to make a sarcastic remark on his mental stability, but he didn't. He just let out a small hum of acknowledgement and didn't inquire further. It was hard to tell, half-shrouded in shadows as they were, but Ed thought he had seen his expression soften somewhat. He offered him a tentative smile in return, ignoring the eye-roll the Other Ed gave him from not too far away.

 

"Whatever you do, I decide what-- uh."

 

"What is it, Mr. Nygma?"

 

"Nothing. You told me you don't like riddles, earlier, so..."

 

"I don't," he paused. "But one riddle won't kill me, I suppose."

 

"Oh, it won't," Ed grinned. "Right, so. Whatever you do, I decide what you don't. Whatever you try, I decide how you live. Wherever you go, you can't escape me. What am I?"

 

"Fate," the Penguin answered immediately.

 

The grin on Ed's face grew even larger. "Correct!"

 

"So you think," the Penguin began, thin eyebrows knitting together as if doubting his own words. "That me almost shooting you in the chest in the middle of the woods was fate."

 

Ed chuckled, which only deepened the small frown on the other man's face. "What I think, Mr. Penguin, is that I could learn a lot from someone like you. What I've done a few hours ago, it felt like...the starting point of something new. Something different, something I had been waiting for. I don't know if I believe in fate, but sure enough someone or something put you in my way, tonight."

 

Instead of replying, the other man looked away, gaze fixing on nothing in particular among the trees, as if he was weighing his response.

 

"You do need some practice," he finally conceded, not looking back at him still. "You can't go around stabbing people in the stomach ten times to vent out your frustrations like a common thug. You're smarter than that."

 

Ed thought he picked up a hint of amusement in the Penguin's voice, which only made even more eager to hear what he had to teach him. He was clinging to every word. But then the Penguin paused. But. There was bound to be a 'but'. And, indeed, there was.

 

"But I'm afraid I'd be a dreadful teacher," he concluded.

 

"I'll take any advice you have to give," Ed insisted.

 

He had forgotten all about the loaded gun still hidden in the other man's coat and all about his own weapon, sharp and ready to cut through flesh at the first hint of hostility on his part. He had forgotten that none of them had sworn to let the other live, after the deed was done. He had forgotten everything but the man sitting beside him and how close he had felt to him when they had buried Dougherty and the nameless henchman.

  
The Penguin's blue eyes settled on him. For the very first time in his life, Ed had the impression to have stumbled upon someone who was able to see right through him at first glance. The realisation was in equal measure exciting and terrifying.

 

It was then that Ed felt it. The same overwhelming impulse he had felt when he had decided to stab Dougherty not once, but two, three, four more times was now suggesting him to lean in and press his lips against the other man's. He wondered what he would do if he kissed him. If he'd be able to taste blood on his tongue, if Oswald would grip and pull at his hair, pull him closer until the both of them struggled to breathe and--

 

He snapped out of his reverie when he spoke again.

 

"I've never met someone so eager for a repeat performance after murdering a man for the first time, and believe me you meet all kinds of people in my line of work. You're an interesting man, Mr. Nygma. The best advice I can give you now is go home and take some time to think. If you're not overcome by guilt and end up turning yourself in in the next few weeks, then you may be worth teaching something."

 

This time, Ed practically beamed, unable to keep his chest from swelling at the praise.

 

"I feel honoured, Mr. Penguin," he found himself confessing. "Having the chance to meet you in the flesh after spending so much time examining your files is more than I could have asked for."

 

"Nonsense. And please, call me Oswald." There was an annoyed edge in his tone, but this time Ed didn't let it deter him.

 

"Only if you call me Ed."

 

The Penguin - _Oswald_ frowned lightly, but he caught a flicker of interest in his gaze before he spoke again.

 

"Well, _Ed_ , I'd like to say that it has been a pleasure working with you, but the truth is I can't wait to go back to my club and have a well-deserved cup of tea. Or maybe something stronger," he said. Without another word, he got up, dusted off his clothes and tied his scarf tight around his neck before turning his back to him and starting to make his way away from the grave they had dug and out of the woods.

 

Ed took it as his cue to start leaving too. Sunset was still hours away, but he wanted to make sure every trace of his crime was erased before he could allow himself some sleep. As he dug his hand in the pocket of his coat to fetch the keys, his eyes fell on something resting on the hood of his car. The bowler hat Oswald had been wearing when they had first bumped into one another and subsequently set aside when it had become evident that there was no need for a disguise anymore.

 

Ed picked it up and turned around, stumbling forwards on the damp ground in an attempt at catching up with him.

 

"Oswald, wait!" He called out to him. "Your hat!"

 

A few feet away, Oswald stopped in his tracks. But he didn’t turn around, instead he made a brief gesture with his hand as if to dismiss his concern.  "You can keep it."

 

Soon, the shadow of Oswald Cobblepot disappeared in the darkness, and he was left alone with a bowler hat in his hands and a stupid grin on his face that just wouldn't go away. He stared at the woods ahead of him for more than necessary, yet the Other Ed was silent, he didn't comment on how pathetic he was, as he expected him too. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see him staring too at the spot where Oswald had just vanished.

 

 

 

                                                                                                                *

 

 

 

Soon, every newspaper was talking about 'the Riddler'.

 

During the day, Ed Nygma hurried up and down the halls of the GCPD with zealous dedication, seemingly oblivious to the cruel whispering of his co-workers to and the looks of pity, instead of affection, he still received from his beloved Miss Kringle. The night was for planning. It had become some sort of twisted game he played with himself, seeing if he could outdo his previous work with an even greater, even more gruesome, even more stunning performance.

 

Ed often wondered what the Penguin would say if he happened to stumble upon him again, now that he had made a name for himself. Would he be proud of him? Would he smile with fondness at how little over-excited Ed he had met once in the woods outside of Gotham had changed? The memory of that night in the woods clinged to him like an old bloodstain and he clinged to it in return. It was his personal forbidden secret he loved to revisit whenever the chattering behind his back became too much to bear and he caught himself fantasizing about just what kind of punishment someone like Oswald would reserve for their irritating lack of respect.

 

And he couldn't stop his heart from jumping in his chest when, coming back to work one evening, he found a single envelope waiting for him in the letterbox. Inside, there was a black business card with the stylised logo of an umbrella and a name printed in fine, elegant silver letters just beneath it. An invite to the grand opening of the Iceberg Lounge.

 

Ed smiled broadly to himself.

**Author's Note:**

> I really want to write a sequel for this one but ugggh inspiration is a bitch. We'll see!


End file.
